


Sunshine, Sea Breeze, and Oh Shit A Shark

by jaybirddraws (simplestorange)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Moonfire Faire (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Obligatory Beach Episode, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal, do we stan gegeruju? we do not, im never writing angst again! only fluff, this is. so rushed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25966168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplestorange/pseuds/jaybirddraws
Summary: “You look good doing it,” G’raha shrugs, but he stops leering at A’chago and turns his gaze toward the ocean. A’chago sits down next to him. The sun is high in the sky above them, the waves crash on the beach and the sand is warm and inviting. A’chago is overcome with the desire to nap right here, right now.Of course, it’s at this moment that the shark makes its reappearance.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	Sunshine, Sea Breeze, and Oh Shit A Shark

**Author's Note:**

> I have _no_ idea what culture the flame dance is supposed to be from because it looks like what Americans think hula looks like but Jiriri mentions the Far East (which is supposed to be stylized after Japan), so for the purposes of this fic I tried to combine hula from Hawai'i and eisa from Okinawa. 
> 
> 5.3 made me so happy and now I am only writing fluff, there are only good things happening to my WoL from now on, he is living it up at the Rising Stones with his family and we're _not thinking about Zenos or Fandaniel-_

A’chago bursts into the Rising Stones like a bat out of hell. He races down the steps, past Riol, who’s clutching his chest; past Alphinaud, who’s managed to spill tea down his whole front; and all the way around the corner to where Alisaie is humiliating the newest Scion with her athletic prowess. 

He feels a wave of fondness flood through his chest. G’raha is laying on the stone ground breathing heavily while Alisaie is still squatting like her life depends on it. “One, two!” she shouts, bending at the knees and then pushing herself back up again. Hoary and the rest are cheering her on. 

Aenor whoops loudly, then yells, “Get up, greenie! You’ve still got twenty reps left before you can call it quits!”

G’raha groans and rolls onto his side. “I thought this was a warmup?”

A’chago decides he’s suffered long enough. He sweeps his arms wide and gives a twirl as he says, “Raha! Get your lazy butt off the ground, we’re going on an _adventure_!” 

That gets the red-haired Scion up faster than anything Alisaie could threaten him with. “Chago! I thought you were in Coerthas?” G’raha wipes the sweat off his brow and straightens his clothes. 

A’chago shakes his head. “Eschiva let me go early. And good thing, too, because today is the Moonfire Faire!” 

Behind them, Alisaie gasps. “Alright, training is over. Alphinaud! Go get my swim shorts!”

“You could at least say ‘please’,” the other twin complains, blotting at his shirt with a napkin. “A’chago, did you really need to run in here?”

A’chago ignores him and offers a hand to help G’raha up. “If I recall correctly, you’ve never been to the Faire and that’s a damn shame,” he explains. “You’ll love it. Come with me?”

G’raha smiles. “I’d love to. Ah, is my current outfit alright?”

A’chago shrugs and pats the chakrams at his hips. “I’m just going in my armor. Besides, we’ll change once we get there.”

“You’re grinning conspiratorially. Should I be concerned?”

A’chago reaches out to straighten one of the pins in G’raha’s hair. “No,” he says sweetly. 

G’raha slaps his hand away, laughing. “That assuages _none_ of my concerns!”

A’chago just grins, holds his hand tighter, and teleports them to Costa del Sol.

* * *

Right away, they can hear the waves crashing on the beach and the excited yells of the crowd. 

Or, rather, the _terrified_ yells of the crowd. A’chago immediately lets go of G’raha in order to grab his chakrams and ready for battle. G’raha unhooks the staff from his back and settles into a battle stance. 

“The party is usually that way,” A’chago says, gesturing toward a few large cabanas on a small island in the water. He looks at G’raha and nods, and the two of them take off down the beach. 

They dive into the water and swim to the island. Once on the shore it becomes apparent what the festival goers are so scared of. 

A large Roegadyn man runs by them. “Sh- _shark!_ ” he screams, pointing toward the water. 

Out in the depths is a huge, sleek, grey fin slicing through the waves. A’chago hums appreciatively. It’s bigger than any fish he’s has the pleasure of catching. 

“Well,” G’raha says, “I’m sure this is not exactly what you had in mind, but I’m not adverse to a chance to fight alongside you-that is, if you’re up for it.” He cocks his head to the side and smiles. 

“Me? You should be asking yourself that, Mr. I-Can’t-Do-Twenty-Squats,” A’chago fires back. G’raha sputters incoherently, and A’chago takes advantage of his shock to get a head start toward the beast. 

He draws his chakrams close to his chest and aims, calculating trajectory in the span of a heartbeat. Just as he’s about to throw them, a voice cries out, “Wait!”

A’chago straightens up. A tall viera approaches him, flanked by a lalafell and a kobold. She looks rather studious, and entirely overdressed for the beach. A’chago narrows his eyes. 

“Well met, ma’am,” G’raha greets her, slinging his staff over his shoulders. “A’chago and G’raha Tia, Scions of the Seventh Dawn. And you are..?”

The woman pushes her glasses up her nose in a way that reminds A’chago of Briardien, and bows deeply. When she rises, she sticks her arm out and points at them. “Thracie, chief researcher of the Bombardiers! And these are my compatriots, Jiriri and Ba Go.”

“Hey, Ba Go,” A’chago says, waving. 

The kobold looks at him quizzically, then recognizes him. “Well met, well met adventurer! Wonderful, amazing, very good!” 

Thracie clears her throat. “As I was saying, please don’t attack the shark! Doing so would only serve to give it a taste of blood-the repercussions of which would be astronomically terrible!”

G’raha hums thoughtfully. “That’s true...but wouldn’t its proximity to the coast be reason enough to believe that it has already _had_ a taste?” _He’s using his scholar voice,_ A’chago notes. _Hot._

Jiriri uses the lull in conversation to speak up. “But combat may not be necessary at all,” she says. “The Bombardiers and I have come up with a non-combative method of driving the shark away without killing it, or hurting any adventurers in the process.”

A’chago wilts. Not that he condones violence against animals, but he was excited for a good fight. 

“Don’t sulk,” G’raha chides, nudging him. “There’s nothing wrong with the environmentally friendly option.”

According to Thracie, along with helpful commentary from Ba Go, there exists a form of dance that the people of the Far Eastern islands used to appease fire and lava spirits. A’chago perks up at the thought of learning a new dance. 

It’s called the flame dance, and Jiriri learned it from her grandmother, who learned it from hers, and so on. It’s a time honored tradition of quelling the fire goddess’s rage, although recent changes have given it the power to _incite_ her rage as well. The general plan is to summon a bombard that Ba Go will provide, control it using the flame dance, and drive the shark out to sea, hopefully scaring it enough in the process that it decides to hunt elsewhere. 

All in all, a terrible plan, but no worse than trying to defeat an Ascian while so corrupted by Light that one can’t see clearly. A’chago excels at terrible plans.

* * *

Jiriri is tasked with teaching G’raha and A’chago how to properly do the flame dance. She leads them to a quiet part of the beach and demonstrates the dance by herself first, using one of Ba Go’s beauties. 

“Keep an eye on the way my hands move, and the way my feet are positioned,” she instructs them. The mini bombard glows brightly and swells with her movements. “Every movement of the flame dance is important. To mess up is to offend the ancestors-no pressure, though.”

Beside him, G’raha gulps. “You’ll be fine,” A’chago says. 

While she dances, Jiriri tells them the history of dance on her island. Like Thavnairan dance, it tells a story. Unlike Thavanairan dance, however, there are a lot of specific rules and movements that describe certain things: it’s more of a language, with proper grammar, whereas Nashmeira and Ranaa taught A’chago to prioritize dramatic, emotional movements to invigorate the spirit. This seems closer to Gundu sundances. 

“Usually this dance is performed by twenty to thirty dancers, with singing, chanting, and drumming accompaniment. However, we’ll just have to make do with whatever adventurers we can scrounge up. I’ve been teaching this dance all day, if you can believe it.” Jiriri sways her hips gently, and takes a few steps to the right. Her hands undulate like ocean waves, and her feet change position every few beats. The bombard nearly doubles in size.

“This looks...complicated,” G’raha mutters. 

“Oh, it is,” Jiriri confirms. “There are many levels of dancing, and each one takes about five years to complete. I’ve been dancing for fifteen years myself. My grandmother danced for seventy-two. Luckily for you scrubs, though, you only need to know the most important parts of the flame dance.” She finishes with a dramatic flourish that makes the bombard swell even more and bows. “Alright! Your turn.”

G’raha looks between her, the bombard, and A’chago. “I think she means _you_ ,” he says pointedly. A’chago laughs and steps forward. 

Jiriri wasn’t kidding-the dance is difficult to learn. She constantly makes adjustments to his feet or the height of his hands, but after a few tries, he gets it down. He can feel the way that the aether moves through his body and into the bombard. 

As he dances, the bombard begins to flicker weakly and grow a little. Soon enough, it glows brightly and gets larger. Nowhere near as big as it had when Jiriri herself was dancing, but nothing to be scoffed at, either. 

G’raha has less luck. Whereas A’chago had his dancing background to fall back on, G’raha is only a week out of his four year slumber and A’chago knows for a fact that he’s always had two left feet.

“Right. Uh, first you...sway your hips…” G’raha jerks his hips side to side stiffly. 

Jiriri smiles gently. “Like water,” she encourages. 

“Like water. Yes.” He raises his arms and makes a wave-like motion. The bombard sputters weakly, then goes out completely. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry!”

“No worries,” Jiriri says. She kicks the bombard and it sparks back to life. “Try again.”

It takes almost a full bell, but by the end A’chago is dancing well and G’raha is no longer killing the poor thing. 

“Perfect! I think that should be enough for our purposes. Keep practicing, keep an eye out for that shark, and we’ll be good to go!” Jiriri gives them both an enthusiastic thumbs up, then wanders off in the direction of the bar. 

“Well! I’ve certainly never _danced_ a shark away, but there’s a first time for everything,” G’raha says, plopping down on the sand and stretching. “Gods, I’m wiped.” 

A’chago hums, still dancing idly. He keeps a close eye on the water, waiting for the shark to reappear. After a few beats of silence, he realizes that G’raha hasn’t spoken in a while. 

When he looks down, G’raha is staring at him. “What?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” G’raha replies easily. “Can’t a man just enjoy the view?”

A’chago kicks sand at him. “You’ve been spending _far_ too much time with Thancred. This is a religious practice!”

“You look good doing it,” G’raha shrugs, but he stops leering at A’chago and turns his gaze toward the ocean. A’chago sits down next to him. The sun is high in the sky above them, the waves crash on the beach and the sand is warm and inviting. A’chago is overcome with the desire to nap right here, right now. 

Of course, it’s at this moment that the shark makes its reappearance. The screams seem to be coming from the southeast corner of the island, so A’chago and G’raha race each other down there.

Just like Thracie predicted, the shark emerges from the depths of the ocean and walks onto the shore. It’s a massive thing, towering almost as tall as a primal with rippling grey muscles and a mouth full of sharp teeth. 

“Ba Go, now!” Thracie commands, pointing at the beast. Ba Go cups his hands and summons the biggest bombard that A’chago has ever seen before. It’s easily thrice the size of a normal one, probably the size of a lalafell, but it’s laughably small compared to the shark. 

“Showtime, boys!” Jiriri calls. She starts dancing. The aether is visibly channeled into the bombard and it grows just slightly. 

A’chago skids to a stop beside her and falls into rhythm, channeling his own aether into the bombard. It takes a few seconds for G’raha to join, but he does soon enough as well. Around them, adventurers of all creeds join in. The bombard balloons in size, tripling, quadrupling-

“Watch out!” someone shouts. The shark is rearing back in preparation for something. The echo flashes a warning and a trajectory in A’chago’s mind. 

He grabs G’raha by the wrist and drags him out of the way just as the shark sends a massive wave of water through the bombard and anything behind it. A few unlucky adventurers get swept along with it, and A’chago winces when he sees a few others raising them. 

“Oh, this is dangerous,” G’raha observes. 

A’chago grins at him. “C’mon, Raha, dance like your life depends on it!” 

They jump back into the fray, bumping into other adventurers and dodging attacks from the shark. The bombard grows and grows, burning brighter, until Thracie calls out over the chaos that it’s going to explode. In a blinding flash of light it explodes in the shark’s face, making it stumble backward toward the ocean. 

“Yes! Keep going!” Jiriri cheers, dancing harder. 

Sweat beads on A’chago’s brow. He pushes more aether into the dance and funnels it into the bombard. “This would be so much easier if I could just kill it!’ he yells to G’raha. 

“Less talking, more dancing!” G’raha replies. His face is screwed up in concentration. A’chago takes a deep breath and returns his focus to the bombard. 

It’s been reduced to its original state, but steadily growing once more. “Watch out!” G’raha cries, tackling him to the ground just as a whip of water slices through where their heads just were. A’chago blinks away the impact best he can. “You ok?” G’raha asks. He pulls A’chago up without waiting for an answer and dives back into the fray. 

The bombard is burning even more brightly now, and Thracie cheers over the din of the crowd. The bombard forces the shark to back up even further until it’s standing in the water. With one last pulsing glow, the bombard explodes. The shark roars in pain and escapes into the ocean, swimming away as fast as it can. The crowd of adventurers break out into celebration once it becomes obvious that the shark has no intentions of returning. 

A’chago whoops loudly and picks up G’raha to swing him around. “We did it!” he shouts. 

G’raha laughs. “And none the worse for wear.” Once his feet are back on the ground, he leans over to plant a kiss on A’chago’s cheek. “What now, brave warrior?”

“Now,” Jiriri interjects, “You go collect your reward. And then you have the rest of the faire to yourselves!”

Thracie walks up beside her, Ba Go trailing behind. “I wish that was the end of it,” she says apologetically. “But the Bombardiers are funded by Master Gegeruju, and his one stipulation for allowing us to play with explosions on his beach is that he wants to learn more of the flame dance, and he’s given _you_ -”, she points to A’chago, “-the honor of an audience.”

A’chago whines pitifully, but Gegeruju is not the sort of man one can simply _ignore_ , even if they are the Warrior of Light. The Bombardiers hand them both a redeemable voucher for a faire outfit and leave A’chago to mourn his fate. G’raha asks him who Gegeruju is. 

“He’s an equal-opportunity pervert,” A’chago says by way of explanation. “The kind of man who has a lot of money and an affinity for slim, scantily clad bodies. I _think_ he treats his employees well, but. Key word being ‘think’.” 

“Ah, there were more than a few men like that in Eulmore,” G’raha says, hooking a finger under his chin. “And plenty in Sharlyan, if I recall correctly.”

“Men,” A’chago grouches. “Giving us all a bad name. Oh, well. Sooner we get this over with the sooner we can have the day to ourselves. What say you? Shall we dance?” He extends an arm to G’raha. 

G’raha takes it with a flirty smile. “I’d rather watch, but I’m sure I’ll get plenty of time to do so later.”

There’s a little skipper ferrying people to and from the mainland, so they take the boat over to Gegeruju’s mansion-on-the-sea. Upon arriving, they find him deep in conversation with Jiriri. A’chago clears his throat to grab the man’s attention. 

“Ah! A’chago! Jiriri was _just_ regaling me with tales of your grandiloquent victory over the savage shark, who so rapaciously infringed upon the festivities.” 

G’raha bristles beside him. A’chago doesn’t know what half of the words Gegeruju just said mean, but clearly, neither does Gegeruju. 

Gegeruju sets his drink down on the floor and continues. “Everyone in Costa del Sol-myself included-owes you a debt of gratitude. I understand it was quite a formidable display. But forgive me! I haven’t even introduced myself to your friend!” At this, he rises and offers a hand to G’raha. “Master Gegeruju, at your service. I must say, I am quite intrigued to discover what sort of company the Warrior of Light keeps.”

G’raha shakes his hand firmly. “G’raha Tia, Scion of the Seventh Dawn. Thank you for hosting the celebrations, and for funding the Bombardiers. This victory is as much yours as it is ours.”

The way G’raha slips into the act of a refined diplomat is remarkable every time. A’chago, who has no filter, could never. 

The act obviously wins Gegeruju over, because he laughs loudly and gestures to the party. “My boy, life is meant to be lived! I couldn’t very well abandon the masses, could I? Now, about that dance.” Gegeruju shifts in his seat to look at Jiriri. “Jiriri has been serving me for as long as I can remember, yet I have just recently learned of it! Just how long have you been keeping this a secret?”

Jiriri sighs. “I had only ever viewed it as a provincial tradition, not something that would pique your refined sensibilities, and certainly not something on which lives would hinge.” She goes on to give Gegeruju a summarized version of the history she recounted to A’chago and G’raha. 

“Grace meets tradition...why, Jiriri, dear girl, I daresay it embodies the spirit of Costa del Sol! You simply must perform it for me! Perhaps with some of the other dancers? Yes, yes, the graceful and lithe ones. I should very much like to see them swaying back and forth…” He looks at A’chago, then back at Jiriri. Then back at A’chago, and back at Jiriri. Then back _again_ at A’chago, before finally turning his head to the sky and staring pitifully at the stars as if they could grant him his unspoken wishes without him actually asking for it. A’chago feels irritation prick under his skin. 

Jiriri turns to A’chago and G’raha with her arms crossed. “I suppose it would only be fitting for you two to do the honors-rest assured, your services will be compensated. Will you oblige us?”

“Of course,” G’raha agrees before A’chago can let his temper get the better of him. “We would be delighted.” A’chago shoots him a scathing glare. 

“Perfect!” Jiriri exclaims. “I’ll go get everything set up-you two go get changed and recruit as many dancers as you can, okay? You’re both good enough now that you should have no challenges teaching it to the others. Remember, no mistakes, or my ancestors will smite us all.”

Framing it as a challenge was a smart move, A’chago admits. He’s already fired up just thinking about it. “You got it, Jiriri,” he says with a confident smirk. 

They take the skipper back to the island. 

“You weren’t kidding when you called him a pervert,” G’raha msues. “I thought you were going to rip his head off when he ‘asked’ you to dance for him.”

“I wanted to, but better men have asked worse things of me,” A’chago shrugs. Upon seeing G’raha’s concerned face, he quickly amends, “Not whatever you’re thinking. I meant, like, killing people stuff.” 

The skipper clears her throat roughly to remind them that unfortunately, she’s still privy to their conversation. A’chago and G’raha both fall silent. 

Upon reaching the shore, they set out to find Gegeruju’s employees that have taken the night off to enjoy the festivities. 

“Man, I feel like such a dick for asking them to go back to work,” A’chago complains. “Like, ‘hey, you get to relax and go to a party! Never mind, your boss wants you to dance _right this very instant-_ ’”

“That’s probably why he wanted you to ask,” G’raha says, trotting alongside him. “Nobody in their right mind would say no to the Warrior of Light.”

A’chago laughs. “Not true. You say no all the time.”

“I say no when you have a terrible idea, not just for the sake of it!”

“I still think we should’ve had a Nix-Riding competition.”

“You’re just _asking_ for poor Alphinaud to be eaten.”

“Maybe he deserves it.”

G’raha pulls on A’chago’s arm and brings him to a stop. “You,” he breathes, “Are ridiculous.” He gives A’chago a quick peck. “Now let’s find some dancers, dance for a rich man, and _enjoy the rest of our evening_.”

“You got it, boss,” A’chago says in a daze. 

The dancers are easy to find, most of them are congregated in groups talking to other employees or amongst themselves. They’re all understanding of Gegeruju’s request, or at least know the man well enough to not be surprised. They all pick up the flame dance easily, much to A’chago’s relief and G’raha’s dismay. 

By the time they’ve finished gathering and training all the dancers, it’s just about a bell before sunset. They walk back to the bar, where Jiriri told them to meet her. “You may get your wish of watching me dance after all,” A’chago says teasingly, “Because you’d stick out like a sore thumb if you tried to dance with the rest of us.”

G’raha swats him on the arm. “Don’t be mean,” he says with a smile. “I’ve simply never been gifted with the ability to dance. But I do recall something about being the only one of us who’s literate…”

A’chago gasps. “Shut up! I don’t need to read! The echo just beams the information directly into my head if it’s that important, therefore, everything else is not.” He pauses, then takes G’raha’s hand in his own. “I don’t want to even think about Gegeruju, but if _you_ were in the audience, well...maybe I could be convinced to put on a show.”

“Sold,” G’raha says immediately. “To be honest, I wasn’t quite looking forward to making a fool of myself in front of our host.” 

They make a stop by the Moonfire Vendor to get their outfits, then A’chago disappears into the changing rooms set up by the bar. 

As he puts the outfit on, he tries not to feel too uncomfortable. It’s a long pink skirt that opens at the hip, a set of jewelry for his arms and neck, sandals, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. It’s incredibly revealing. He’s never been particularly _modest_ , but there’s a reason he avoids swimsuits altogether. 

The scars on his body catch the light of the setting sun and make odd contours with their shadows. 

For a second he considers calling it all off, going home, and putting on a thousand sweaters until no one can see his body at all, but then he thinks of how G’raha will react when he steps outside the changing room and it gives him enough courage to calm down. He adjusts the straw hat, pulls a grin on his face, and steps out into the sun. 

The gasp he elicits from G’raha makes it all worth it. A’chago grins for real this time, then comes to a stop in front of him. 

“Close your mouth, you’ll swallow a bug,” A’chago says, pushing G’raha’s shoulder lightly. 

“You are a _vision_ ,” G’raha says instead. He composes himself. “Best be off, then. You don’t want to be late.”

A’chago pouts and crosses his arms. “I could stand to be a little late.”

G’raha leans in to whisper, “Get this over with so I can get you alone.”

A’chago doesn’t need to be told twice.

* * *

The Bombardiers, Gegeruju, and Jiriri are all waiting at a little stretch of beach near the bar. The other dancers have already gathered. They all look beautiful, done up in bright colors and bare-chested. The women, who far outnumber the men, wear white tops with their ensembles. Jiriri has even pulled a small band out of nowhere, all of them wielding instruments that A’chago feels like he’s seen before but doesn’t know the name of. He and the dancers arrange themselves in a line. 

The musicians start up a beat by clapping what sounds like two wooden poles together, and after a few measures they begin chanting in what the Echo tells him is Jiriri’s native language. Immediately A’chago can feel the way that the music and the dance fit together, and he dances with ease. The rest of the dancers move in sync, and together, they perform the flame dance as best they can. 

After they finish, Gegeruju breaks into applause. “Magnificent! Spectacular! Titillating! Why, a better performance I could not have hoped for!” The drink in his hand spills as he gestures wildly. 

All that work, and the damn lalafell had been drunk the whole performance. A’chago feels his eye twitch. 

G’raha, thankfully, comes to save him while Gegeruju gets caught up talking to his employees. “You did wonderfully,” he says, embracing him. 

Jiriri comes up to them and nods. “You did. Of course, I broke about a thousand traditions to make this happen, and I can feel my grandmother rolling in her grave, but you didn’t make any mistakes, and I get paid, and _you_ get paid, so all’s well that ends well.” She still looks disgruntled, though, and A’chago knows exactly what to do to fix it. 

“I’m going to get drunk,” he declares. “Jiriri, Raha, do you want anything?”

“I would die for a margarita,” Jiriri says. 

“A sangria, if they have any,” G’raha adds. A’chago extricates himself from G’raha’s arms and swaggers up to the bar. 

Haermaga greets him with a friendly wave. “What can I get for you, lad?”

“Two sangrias and a margarita, strong as you can make them, please. I want to forget everything I just did.”

The roegadyn laughs. “Why? You lot look good, dancing all pretty like that.” 

A’chago raises one eyebrow at him and Haermaga quickly glances back down to the drinks. “‘Course, Master Gegeruju tends to have that effect on people. On the house, kid. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thanks, Haermaga, you’re the best,” A’chago grins at him, gathering the drinks and heading back to his friends. 

Jiriri takes her drink gratefully then rushes over to wherever Thracie and Ba Go wandered off to, while G’raha takes the two remaining ones because A’chago collapses in the sand. 

G’raha sits down next to him carefully. “Are you okay, love?” he asks. 

A’chago rolls on his side. “We came here bells ago and only just now have some time to ourselves. This isn’t exactly what I had planned when we set out today.”

“Fighting the shark was fun.”

“Fighting the shark _was_ fun.”

G’raha takes a long sip of his drink, then spits it all out and coughs. “Wicked white, what the hell is in this?”

A’chago takes a sip. “It tastes fine to me.” 

“It’s so _strong_.” G’raha makes a face and a show of how much he dislikes it. 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot you’re such a lightweight,” A’chago teases him. He gulps down almost a quarter of it just to show off. 

“Show off,” G’raha calls him out. 

“Shut up. Look, they’re starting the fireworks.”

Above them, colorful explosions fill the night sky. It reminds A’chago a little bit of the starshower only a week or so prior, but he squashes down the knee-jerk apprehension to appreciate the beauty.  
By the end of the fireworks show, A’chago has finished half his drink while G’raha has drained his through sheer willpower alone. As a result, A’chago feels pleasantly loose while G’raha is flat out _drunk_. 

“Chago! Chago, I want a hat!” G’raha demands, rolling from his side onto A’chago’s chest. “Straw hat. Moonfire-moonfire hat. I want one. And the rest.”

“We can get one,” A’chago says. “You still have the voucher.”

G’raha’s face lights up. “The voucher! The voucher, the voucher!” He digs it out of his pocket and kisses it. “Ah, I’m so happy…”

A’chago smiles at him. “Are you going to be able to get changed if we get you the outfit?”

“Yeah,” G’raha says seriously. “I’ll have you know I have a _fantastic_ helper.” He leans in close and stage-whispers, “He’s the _Warrior of Darkness_.”

A’chago bursts into laughter. “Okay, okay. We’ll get you into that outfit, and I’ll get myself another drink. I want to be as drunk as you.” 

“Yes! Join me! Get drunk!” G’raha attempts to stand up. It takes him a few tries. “Maybe not this drunk,” he amends. 

Three more drinks, a moonfire faire outfit, six miqa’bobs, and four hours later A’chago and G’raha stumble into the Rising Stones, giggling like kids and dangling off of each other. Alphinaud and Alisaie, who ended up not going on account of neither of them being able to find Alisaie’s swim shorts, both look up in alarm. 

“Pa-paya! Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-paya!” A’chago shouts, while G’raha struggles to contain his laughter. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” G’raha says, doubled over and holding his chest. “You look-look like a _fish_!”

A’chago gasps. “No! Fish are ugly!” He pokes G’raha in the cheek. “You’re red! It’s so cute! You’re drunk!”

“ _You’re_ drunk!”

“Heavens help me,” Alphinaud whispers under his breath. 

Alisaie stands up and puts her hands on her hips. “I’m going to go get Thancred so he can handle this. Deal?”

“Deal.”


End file.
